


What We Made on the Seventh Day

by Artyphex



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And regular sex, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Idiots in Love, M/M, Wedding Night, angelic sex, i listen to a lot of hozier, they fucked in Eden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22424332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artyphex/pseuds/Artyphex
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have finally gotten married and go off to enjoy their wedding night, and in the process make a discovery.Six-thousand years prior, two angels meet on the wall of Heaven.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	What We Made on the Seventh Day

“Time” as it is known to mortals is not quite the same to immortals. It is difficult to name a “beginning” or an “end” to things when you have no beginning and no end, but, in the beginning, the first day of creation as it would be written by mortals millennia later, there was an angel. This angel had an important job, to stand on the wall of Heaven and guard Her city against whatever was beyond. What was beyond? The angel didn’t know, She had not made it yet. 

There was another angel, not quite as important, no title other than “angel” whose job it was to carry messages around Her city. There were many messages, but the angel noticed none were from Her. The day came when the second angel began to wonder why, exactly, it had to constantly buzz around Heaven. Who would know, the angel wondered, if it stopped for a rest? So it stopped for a rest, sitting on the wall of Heaven. There, it found the angel on the wall. 

\----

Crowley had worn white. 

He could count on one hand the number of times he’d willingly worn white, all he would need is one finger. He would need fewer fingers to count the times he’d  _ purchased  _ his clothes. Crowley had actually stood there in a room of mirrors as an old man with pins in his mouth measured his form to fit the bright-white suit to his body, and then paid a truly horrific amount of pounds to own the suit he’d only wear once. 

Crowley could have manifested a suit, likely a better looking, better fitting suit that didn’t need human hands to make it and didn’t cost more pounds than he’d spent in the last century. 

But, Aziraphale insisted. “You need to wear a  _ real  _ suit, darling,” he said. “It’s  _ tradition.”  _

Tradition. Yes. Humans loved their traditions _.  _ Even if most are so old humans didn’t even remember why they were there. Weddings were like that. Both Aziraphale and Crowley remember a time before weddings, long, long ago. Back when there were no elaborate ceremonies to demonstrate your devotion to one other, all you had to do was say it. 

But Crowley isn’t blind, he knew the way Aziraphale looked at the brides taking photos in Saint James Park, or the couple holding hands on chapels steps as a colorful gathering throws handfuls of rice around them. He’d squeeze Crowley’s hand just a bit tighter at every proposal in front of Big Ben. His angel had never been subtle.

So Crowley proposed, on his knee with a ring and all just after they’d finished dinner. Aziraphale cried and the other Ritz patrons clapped, a waiter brought out champagne and a dessert with  _ Congratulations!  _ written out in chocolate. More than one woman looked at the man next to her with irritation. It was wonderful.

Afterward, Crowley relinquished all wedding-related responsibilities and allowed Aziraphale to plan whatever he wanted, he would have even allowed a church. 

“Who knows,” he said. “Maybe I can go in one now. Own side and all.”

Aziraphale had chosen the park. 

The park, with a white canopy. Lots of flowers and not too many guests. Old music playing on a phonograph. Aziraphale in black, and Crowley in white.

It was a wonderful little ceremony, but now it’s dark, and they had left the park a good while ago. They stood together in a penthouse suite in the center of London. The city lights burning through the grey drawn blinds. The room is colder than Crowley’s usual taste but the bed linens are thick and soft, and Aziraphale hasn’t let go of him since they entered.

Aziraphale brushed a hand down the front of Crowley’s white suit. “I’d like this to stay on,” he said. “Just a bit longer.”

Crowley didn’t argue. He ran his fingers beneath Aziraphale’s black lapel and said, “What about you?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, I think I’ve had enough.” 

And they began their wedding night. 

-—-

The angel on the wall is, like all angels on the wall, cherubim. While the angel from the city is, like all angels in the city, angel. 

It is only the first day of creation, the cherub had not been told what to do with invading angels. 

It hadn’t been told what to with invading anything, and frankly, the cherub had thought that when something  _ did  _ happen, it would simply know what to do. She would tell it, or it would improvise. It did have four faces, perhaps they would be of some use.

The angel only had one face, and it was looking between each of the cherub’s faces inquisitively. 

“Nothing like you down there,” said the angel. 

“Of course not,” said the cherub. “Cherubim are meant for the wall.” 

“Right, yeah, big wall,” said the angel. “What’s on the other side?” 

“I don’t know,” said the cherub. “It is not my place to know.” 

The cherub had one-hundred eyes most of the time, and it had no less than fifteen on the angel. Perhaps the invader would leave on its own after a time. 

“Mind putting on something more…” the angel waved its hands up the cherub’s heavenly form. “Comprehensible?” 

The cherub looked down at itself with all hundred eyes. “I’m not sure I’m allowed.” 

“Says who?” 

“So said the Almighty.” 

“Oh…” said the angel. “She said I’m not allowed up here, and I’m up here, and She hasn’t done anything.” 

“Maybe She doesn’t yet know.” 

The angel raised an eyebrow, something the cherub did not have. “Why wouldn’t She know? Isn’t that a big point? Her being ‘All-Knowing?’” 

The cherub paused, then said, “Perhaps she’s preparing your punishment.” 

The angel tilts its head. “You ever seen anyone be punished?” 

“Well, no. It’s not my department.” The cherub searched its heads for who could handle such things. “I’d say it’s one of the Archangels. Sandalphel maybe. Uriel might also be interested in that,” said the cherub. 

“You talk to Archangels?” 

“Oh yes! Often.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The cherub quietly nodded its head in agreement. 

“You even like that form?” asked the angel. 

This gave the cherub pause. No one had ever asked what it wanted. “I never…well I suppose I never questioned it.” 

“No one questions anything, but questions are nice, I think.” 

“Why?” 

The angel smiled. “See? That’s a question. You learn how things work with questions.” 

“Why would we need to know how things work?” 

“Another one! It’s nice to know how things work.” 

The cherub stewed on this for a moment. 

Beyond the wall was an endless black nothing. A blank page. An open notebook. All for the Almighty to work. The cherub had come to know it well, the dark, the empty. It had spent its existence looking at it. Which perhaps would not be considered a long time from the current perspective of thing, but at the beginning, any time was a long time.

Inside the wall, there is only one thing, a city supposedly, made of light. 

“What’s down there?” said the cherub. 

“Down where?” 

_ “There,”  _ said the cherub. “The city.”

“Oh.” The angel watched the city. “Lots of things like me,” it said. “Buzzing around golden streets. Never once stopping. Real tiring, even just to watch.” 

“Aren’t you stopping?” 

“More questions! Yes! It’s nice.” 

“Breaking rules is nice?” 

“I wouldn’t say I’m breaking rules. Think She’ll really get on me for sitting on a wall? She’s got millions of other angels running ‘round down there.” 

“She won’t be pleased,” said the cherub. Unsure. “Everything in Her kingdom is arranged for a reason.”

“Yeah, exactly,” the angel said. “She’s got bigger things to worry about.” 

The cherub closed its eyes. 

This angel was a strange invader, and the cherub was fairly certain it hadn’t handled the invader correctly. Something in its theological intuition told it it wasn’t to speak to invaders much less take advice from them.

Still, the invader had a point. If She saw something wrong with their conversation, She likely would have intervened by now. Told the cherub what to do. So perhaps the invader was right: the Almighty may have bigger things to worry about. 

When it opened its eyes again, it only had two. 

It had one face, which was considerably easier to speak through. It was wrapped in long white robes, and it was no longer aflame. Two wings, instead of its usual four, sprouted from its back. Stark white and blinding against the black of the beyond the wall.

Its feet, which it had not had before now, touched the stone of the wall, and it turned to the city.

“Yeah,” said the angel. “That’s nice.” 

-—-

On the rings is engraved  _ Amor Vincit Omnia.  _

One may assume that this is their first night together, given the texts they were both born from and the rules it stated. However, they had existed before that rule was written in, and it had always seemed a little silly. Oh yes, it was good for tempting or encouraging virtue, make someone break or sustain their  _ own  _ morals, and thus dampen or enlighten  _ their  _ soul, but She had no actual opinions on the matter. It’s none of Her business and She has greater things to concern Herself with. She would just prefer it be done in private. 

Still, they’d each be lying if they said it didn’t feel different now. This thing, this wedding and these rings, began as something nice to do together. Like going for a picnic, or walking in the park, and the difference is a little more extravagance. But as they stood there, at an altar in the park, exchanging their vows, something felt different. They’d spoken a promise to each other. Words mean a lot. Prayers were words after all. 

Crowley’s clumsy. He’s not used to having to physically go and undo buttons and unclasp buckles and lower zippers. It’s the beauty of not wearing  _ proper  _ clothing or however Aziraphale addressed it. 

He waves his hand, and all the buttons and clasps are undone. Crowley smiles at his work and goes to indulge in his spoils. He falls to his knees, takes Aziraphale by the hips and kisses his stomach. Or, kisses the silk over his stomach. He pulls back, seeing that the undershirt, waistcoat, jacket, and bowtie all sat pristine on his angel like they hadn’t been touched at all.

“No rush, darling,” Aziraphale said. Running a thumb down his cheekbone. 

Crowley stood to his feet, grumbling. Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley starts with the tie. 

Slipping two of his fingers into the knot and pulling at the strip of silk until the bow is undone. Hungrily nipping at the tiny patch of skin it reveals. Trailing kisses up the side of Aziraphale’s neck while his hands work the buttons over his chest. Making an annoyed sound against his jaw as the buttons refuse to cooperate. 

“Shh,” Aziraphale said, stroking a hand up Crowley’s back. “Patience is a virtue, you know.” 

_ “Fuck,  _ virtue,” Crowley growls, pulling at a button until it comes off in his hand. 

Aziraphale  _ tuts.  _ “Do you know how much time I spent at the tailor?” 

Crowley pulls back from the angel’s neck, looking him in the eye as the angel pouted at him. 

The button finds itself reattached, and Crowley carefully slips it from its place. Followed by the one after, and after. Until Aziraphale’s waistcoat and undershirt are open and his skin bares to the cool air of the sweet. Crowley runs his fingertips over the exposed skin. Eyes never breaking from Aziraphale. 

_ “That’s it,”  _ breathes Aziraphale.

Crowley slips his hands beneath the silk and pushes them off. They crumple to the carpet where they will surely wrinkle, but neither care. Aziraphale sits on the edge of the nicely made, very large hotel room bed. Eyes closed. Mouth open. Breathing little sighs of pleasure as Crowley pecks his neck. The demon settles between his knees and works his way down, kissing down his chest, nipping at the curve of his stomach. Slipping his thumbs beneath the waistline of his trousers and dragging them over the sensitive skin until he reaches the front. His fingers resting on his belt buckle. 

“I want to do  _ viciously  _ unholy things to you, angel.” 

He bites the skin of Aziraphale’s stomach. The angel makes a loud, obscene sound and the demon grins. 

Aziraphale caught him by the white tie still neat around his neck. Pulling at it so Crowley has no choice but to look up at him. His face is flush. He’s panting. There are already marks forming on his body where Crowley’s mouth has been. 

“This comes off first,” orders Aziraphale. 

_ Love Conquers All. _

It is the only thing either of them keeps on. 

____

The angel returns on the second day of creation, and there’s something beyond the wall. 

“Well, it’s mighty impressive isn’t it?” said the angel. 

“Of course it is,” said the cherub. “It’s the work of the Almighty.” 

An endless curve of blue stretches out from below where they stand on the wall, cutting a perfect line in the stretch of nothing. Every minute or so, a wisp of white sails by. 

“I help Her, you know. Make things,” said the angel. 

“Do you now?” said the cherub. Excitement bubbling in its voice. 

The angel nods. “Well, not  _ directly. _ I help the ones that help her. Run and do errands. None of the important stuff.” 

“But you get to see it up close!” 

“I uh- well I suppose.” 

“That’s wonderful! What’s it like?”

“Well mostly it’s a lot of flying-” began the angel, “-and don’t you think it’s royally unfair the “messenger” angel’s have the fewest wings? We should have a dozen for all the flying we do- anyway. It’s flying. Then talking- not  _ me  _ talking. Me  _ telling  _ someone what someone else said without them ever even asking me how the trip over was- and every now and then I get an order when a higher-up’s got their wings all tangled. Go make that cloud. Fill in that gap. Nothing big.” 

The angel awaited the cherub’s response. The cherub stared wide-eyed, a wispy cloud flies by below them. 

“Well, I appreciate you confiding in me,” the cherub began, “but I meant the creations themselves.” It cherub points at the blue curve. “That.” 

“Oh,” said the angel, looking over the wall “Well you can see it can’t you?” 

“Yes,” said the cherub. “But I can’t be...in it. Like you can.” 

The angel pauses for a moment, taking this statement in. It paces along the edge of the wall. Reaching its hand over the side. 

“What are you doing?” said the cherub. 

“There’s nothing keeping you up here,” said the angel. “No railing or anything. It’s right there isn’t it?” said the angel. 

“What do you mean?” replied the cherub.

“It’s right there.” The angel nodded towards the blue. “Dive in.” 

“Oh,” said the angel. Taking a few reflexive steps away from the wall’s edge. “I couldn’t.” 

“C’mon! How many wings did She give you? Four? Ever used them?” 

“Never had any need.” 

“There’s a need now.” 

“Is there?” said the cherub, “Because I see only an angel trying to get itself-” 

The angel pushes off the wall, fully unfolding its wings. Every angel’s wings are different and this angel’s are a deep black. Not a flaw in any feather. A tiny shine of iridescence in them when the holy light hits just right. 

“A bit of fun?” said the angel. Hovering there in silence, the cherub staring at it and blinking. Then it said, “In and out. I’ll have you back before She sees.” 

The cherub steps towards the edge. It  _ is  _ right there. That’s true. There  _ isn’t  _ anything keeping it from going, that’s also true. It  _ does  _ have wings. That’s an indisputable fact. 

And an angel is holding out its hand.

“You will get me into endless trouble.” 

The angel smiled. 

And they fell into what would one day be called the sky. 

____

“You alright, angel?” 

“Yes. Yes, my love, I’m-  _ yes!”  _

Aziraphale and Crowley lay together side by side. Crowley’s front flush against Aziraphale’s back. His legs thrown over and around the angel’s thighs, holding them together. His face buried in his neck while he heaves into his ear and nips at his shoulder. One hand between Aziraphale’s legs, touching him, relishing in the feeling of him while the other tangles in his hair. The sound their bodies make as they move together is music. 

_ “Oh,”  _ Aziraphale gasped.  _ “Oh, Crowley.”  _

_ “Angel…”  _ He kissed Aziraphale’s neck. Moaning into his skin. His breathing growing desperate. 

“It’s alright, dear-” he exhaled.

_ “No. Not yet.”  _

_ “Shhh,”  _ Aziraphale squeezes Crowley’s hand. “Let me feel it.” 

_ “I can’t-”  _

“I  _ love  _ you, Crowley.” 

Crowley buries his face into Aziraphale’s neck, moaning through clenched teeth as he comes. His legs tightening around Aziraphale’s thighs and holding him close enough that Aziraphale could feel his mortal heartbeat against his back and his breath on the nape of his neck, all while his hand continues to work between his legs. 

Aziraphale unwove barely a moment later, an elated smile on his face. 

They melt into the sheets, Crowley holding Aziraphale in a lazy embrace, the two of them still intertwined. Aziraphale brings Crowley’s hand to his lips and puts a lingering kiss to the gold of his wedding band. 

“That was excellent,” said Aziraphale, placing another quick series of kisses to Crowley’s knuckles. 

“I know,” said Crowley, kissing the shell of his ear, nuzzling into his neck. “It’ll only get better as we go.” 

“Will it now?” said Aziraphale, looking over his shoulder at Crowley, teasingly running his thumb over Crowley’s fingers.

A window somewhere is open just a crack, from far, far down on the street a car honks. A blind clicks against the glass as a breeze blows inside. 

Crowley kisses Aziraphale just below his eye. Untangling himself from him and maneuvering them both so Aziraphale lies on his back beneath him. Aziraphale laughed while he’s being thrown about, his laughter muffled when Crowley kisses him. Pressing him into the mattress. The room filled with intimate silence. Goosebumps growing on their skin as the outside air touches them. When Crowley breaks the kiss, he stares down at Aziraphale, eyes drunk and dilated with love. 

Aziraphale places his hand over his lips. 

“Let’s have a bath,” he says. 

He takes his hand from Crowley’s mouth and gently pushes the demon off of him. Standing up from the bed, walking casually to the closet, naked and shameless. 

Crowley sits up. “What?” 

“We can’t get it all out in one go can we?” said Aziraphale, sliding the door open and putting on a plush white robe that had been neatly hanging inside. “We need to relax.” 

_“Relax?”_ said Crowley. “Staying in this bed and fucking for the next year sounds pretty damn _relaxing.”_

Aziraphale pauses as he ties the cloth belt around his waist. “Come now don’t use that word,” he says, glaring at Crowley. “That’s not what we’re doing.” 

“What are we doing?” 

Aziraphale finishes tying the belt. “We’re making love, obviously.” 

Crowley, for lack of any better terms available and to his own great displeasure, blushed. 

Aziraphale returns to the side of the bed. “I told you there’s no rush, dear.” He takes Crowley’s hand and placed a courtly, adoring kiss on the back. “We have eternity. Take a bath with me.” 

____

On the third day, the cherub does its job. 

It stands on the edge of the wall and stares into the ever-filling nothing vigilantly. Hands behind its back and its face stoic. Its eyes constantly scan the line between the sky and the beyond for any break in the stillness. No break comes. There is nothing beyond the wall.

The angel has not returned. 

There’s more to see beneath the blue curve, if the cherub looks, and squints its eyes, it could see the shapes of masses that would one day be called land, the green of things it would come to know as trees, the white rolls of blue-green waves it would call the sea. It knows none of those names now, but it watches with fascination nonetheless.

There is a thought that’s bothering it. 

The day before, it had flown through the sky. It had been incredible. Beautiful. Nothing but vibrant blue around it, wisps of clouds over it, under it, even around it. The cherub had loved every second.

But it is deep into the third day and the cherub began to wonder if the angel had finally been found and reprimanded for its...what would the word be? Understand, with everything so new, the concept of disobedience had not yet started to spread. Though it won’t be long now. 

Finally, something breaks the edge of the sky. Something red and black and wrapped in white, and the cherub smiles. 

The angel lands on the wall beside it. “Sorry,” it says. “It’s been a long day.” 

“Long how?” asks the cherub. 

“She got ambitious today,” explains the angel. “Not that I saw that much of Her.” 

“What did you make?” 

“What did  _ She  _ make you mean?” 

The cherub blinks. It hadn’t even thought… “Of course.” 

“A bloody lot,” said the angel. It sits on the wall, letting its legs dangle over the sky. “One day I’ll show you.” 

“Oh, you can’t possibly expect me to-” 

“Of course not, not yet,” said the angel. “I brought some of it back.” 

“You  _ what?”  _

“Some of the...” the angel paused, “...the  _ earth  _ I suppose. I took it with me. Just a tiny bit, no one will notice.” 

“You  _ stole  _ some of the-” 

The angel holds something up. 

It’s a small thing. Nothing like it in all of Heaven. A plump head of white, edged with ribbons of red, attached to a long green stem, wrapped around the angel’s hand. 

“It’s a plant,” said the angel. “That’s the name they’re sticking with.” 

The cherub stared at it, brushing its thumb over a petal and stroking down the stem until it reaches the angel’s fingers. 

“I feels- odd,” says the cherub, as it pulls its hand away. 

“It’s  _ earthly _ . It’s not like the stuff up here.” 

“How so?” 

“It’s got a body,” the angel flicks one of the leaves on the stem. “It’s alive.”

“A body?” the cherub examines the flower. It reaches out its hand, the angel passes the plant to the cherub. It noticed the flower has a distinct, pleasant scent coming from it. “I like that.” 

“Really?” said the angel, tilting its head. “I think the whole plan sounds terrible.” 

“Now don’t say that! I’m sure it’s a wonderful thing.” 

“Bodies die,” said the angel, flatly.

The cherub is suddenly started, and equal part confused. It has never heard that word before. “They what?” 

“They die,” the angel reiterates. “They end.” 

“Then…” the cherub stares at the flower. A beautiful little thing. Beauty is delicate. It is one of Her greatest rules. “Then what happens?” 

“I don’t know,” said the angel. “Maybe that’s it.” 

The cherub looked at the flower, it looked heavy there, wrapped around the angel’s hand. What an odd thing to see in Heaven, it thought, but there should be more of it. The wall would be a much better place if it had a few of these things growing on it. A little, divine fire began in its chest. An instinctive want, to protect the thing She had made. 

“I don’t believe that,” said the cherub, holding the flower to its chest. “Earth must be beautiful.” 

“It’s alright,” said the angel. “I’d only say pretty.” 

“Tell me.” 

“I-” the angel stammered. “I’m not good with words.” 

“If the last days have proven anything,” said the cherub. “It’s that you’re plenty good.” 

“What would you like me to tell you, then?” 

“Anything you’d like, I suppose.” 

____

“Paris,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley grimaced. “They eat snails.” 

They sat in the suite’s bathtub. Their legs strategically placed to allow them both to fit, passing a bottle of champagne between them. They had forgone the fancy glasses and the bucket of ice the staff had so graciously left them. This way is faster, and the bottle never ran out. 

“Venice then,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley removes the bottle from his lips with an audible pop. “Nuh. That place could sink into the water any day now.”

Aziraphale reached across the tub, beckoning with his fingers. “Bath.” 

Crowley passed him the bottle. “That’s what we’re doing now isn’t it?” 

“Where do _you_ suggest?” said Aziraphale, bringing the bottle to his lips. 

Crowley put his arms on either side of the tub, laying his head back and sinking deeper into the water. Making a point to rub his legs on Aziraphale as he stretches out. “Someplace we haven’t been.” 

“Where  _ haven’t  _ we been, dear?” 

“Don’t know,” Crowley said, wiping a stray bubble off his nose. “Guess we’ll have to find it.” 

Aziraphale laughed. 

“What?” 

“When did you become so romantic?”

Crowley splashed him. 

Aziraphale raised his arm to shield his eyes from the incoming attack of water and bubbles. He placed the champagne bottle on the floor beside the bathtub and carefully untangles his limbs from Crowley. Crawling up the length of the tub until he’s pressed his body against Crowley’s, holding himself steady on either side of the tub. The demon smiles, wrapping his arms around him, he expects Aziraphale to kiss him, or press his forehead to his, or whisper something sweet and sinful into his ear, but instead, he asks: “Have you ever been in love?”

Crowley blinks, his arms slipping off Aziraphale. “What?” 

“Before I mean.” 

Crowley runs a hand through his hair. “You going to go smite your competition?”

“I’m serious, Crowley.”

The bathroom is very quiet. A room with Aziraphale in it never feels quiet, and if it does, it’s that kind of peaceful, full quiet that only comes from sharing space with someone you love. That was not the quiet of the bathroom, this was quiet enough to make Crowley flinch at the sound of a drop of water dripping off his finger onto the marble. 

“I…don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” 

He turns his head, focusing on the lights just past Aziraphale’s ear. “I don’t really remember.” 

“You don’t remember falling in love?” 

His eyes fall on Aziraphale once more. “Why, worried I’ll forget you?” 

“No, I just…” 

He kissed Aziraphale. “I’ll  _ never  _ forget you, angel,” he says against his mouth. “Never.” 

____

“Any angel can make stars,” said the angel on the fourth day. 

The endless nothing beyond the wall had been replaced. The empty space is now filled with a glowing white moon and blinding yellow sun. The empty space between  _ them  _ had been filled with tiny lights, and they were called stars. 

“Can they now?” said the cherub, amused. The Archangels had made quite a show of being able to create the stars, and the angel had apparently taken offense. 

The angel leaned back on its hands. The tips of its long red hair stroking the stone of the wall. “I made some of those stars,” it said. 

“Did you really?” said the cherub.

“Yes!” said the angel. “Look.” 

It points above them, at a bright, white star in the north. “I made that one,” it said. “Was proud of it too. Lucifer’s taking all the credit.” 

The cherub looks at the star, it flickers and shines back at him. “Is it hard?” 

“Making stars?” 

“Yes.” 

The angel shakes his head. “Making things? Easy as anything.” 

The angels furrows its brow at the angel. Then, it looks out at the flickering stars filling the nothing it had been made to guard. 

“Show me,” it said.

The angel smiled. 

From the tip of its finger grows a dot. 

A little silver thing. Glowing and glinting. It’s tiny, yet, it looks larger than it should be on the tip of the angel’s finger. 

Silently, the angel flicks its hand, and the little ball of silver flies off. Falling into the blackness, a tail of white behind it. 

“That’s all there is?” says the cherub. 

“That’s all there is.” 

The cherub looks at its palms. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Look,” the angel scoots over to sit beside the cherub. Their shoulders pressed together. It puts its hand beside the cherub’s. 

“All you need to do,” it says. “Is want to.” 

Something flickered in the cherub’s heart. 

The angel moved his fingers, another huge, tiny star sat in the center of his palm. Filling it with silver light. The cherub watched the angel’s face. It liked doing this, even if it didn’t have to, wasn’t supposed to. The starlight caught in silver threads in the angel’s hair. 

The cherub looked at its own hands. 

A silver-blue ball formed in its palm. 

“See!” said the angel. The star flickered, adjusting to the newness of its existence. Do stars live and die? Like the plants? Like the earth?

“Now toss it,” says the angel. 

The cherub does so. Tossing the ball of light into the darkness. A thick, smoky tail of blue follows it. 

“Alright,” says the angel. “Make another.” 

The cherub stared at the angel. 

“Something the matter?” it said. 

“No,” said the cherub. “I want to make something…” 

They were on the edge of the world, every star close enough to touch. The moon was new, white as the cherub’s wings and smooth like glass. It would look different one day, but moonlight in wandering hearts will always be a dangerous thing. 

The cherub lets the stars watch. Can She see?

“With you,” said the cherub. 

“Me?”

“Yes.”

She can, and She is getting some ideas. 

“Get on with it, then,” said the angel. 

The cherub ran its fingers down the angel’s jawline. 

“Your eyes are golden,” said the cherub.

First kisses are awkward. It doesn’t matter if you’ve kissed before, a new person is still a key slotting into a lock that does not fit yet. It takes a few tries to learn how to get it right. 

It is made no easier when no one in existence had been kissed before. 

The cherub leans in. The angel braces itself. Their lips meet slowly, there’s hesitance, a bit of breath between them. They are a pair of angels in a world still being created. They are curious creatures. Their purpose is to  _ make _ . 

The stars are watching, the stars are watching.

“I said,” breathed the angel. “Get on with it-” 

The cherub kissed it.

On the fourth day stars were created, their effect on those they shined down on? That was an unintentional consequence. 

They kiss. Their hands wander. They kiss hungrily. They get tangled. In wings, and hands, and legs. They sit on the edge of Heaven, the stars blink at them from the dark. Their forms falter, the cherub’s skin begins to lick with white flames, the angel’s halo gets brighter. 

Something- clicks.

It can be described later, as a drop of ink into water. Something mingles. Just a taste. It swirls. Spreads. Another drop beads at the head of a divine quill.

The cherub pulls away. The flames on its skin fade. It sits on the wall and begins to fiddle with its hands. 

The angel is on its knees. Its wings are half-open. It’s eyes wide, staring at its arms, it hates that they’re empty. “What was that?” 

“Something I made,” said the cherub. “Did you not like it?” 

The angel shakes its head. “Didn’t say that.”

Somewhere, in the distance, a star flickers a brighter.

____

Aziraphale put the robe back on once they’d left the bath. It was a  _ dreadfully  _ soft thing and he couldn’t help himself. 

Aziraphale lounged on the large sofa that takes up a good portion of their hotel suite, sitting before a coffee table with an empty box of chocolates and a massive, dark television neither of them had thought to turn on. One of Aziraphale’s hands is on the cushion of the sofa, tracing the intricacies of the velvet pattern. The other rested on Crowley’s naked hip as the demon straddled him.

“Relaxed now?” said Aziraphale.

“No,” said Crowley, lowering himself onto Aziraphale. “Not till we’ve done this enough-  _ ah-  _ to make up for six thousand fucking years.” 

Crowley began to roll his hips, slow, steady. He takes a hissing breath and begins to move quickly, frantically. Aziraphale grabs him by his thighs and guides him. Slowing him. Steadily rolling into him. Crowley whines. 

“Pull my hair,” he says. 

“Dear-” 

_ “Do it.”  _

Aziraphale sits up and cups Crowley’s face in both hands. Brushing his lips against his. He slips one hand around the back of his neck, running his fingers over the sensitive skin, then he weaved his fingers into Crowley’s hair where he grabs a fist-full and  _ pulls.  _

Crowley made a long, ragged sound. His breathing growing more frantic, the corners of his mouth twitching up. He did nothing to hide his moan when Aziraphale kissed down his neck, his other hand stroked down his body until he reached his arse and squeezed. 

_ “What else?”  _

Crowley swallows, he spoke with a breathy and uneven voice. “Just- keep moving your hips like that,” he says. “And watch me.” 

Aziraphale leans his head against Crowley’s shoulder. Relishing his warmth and breathing in his scent. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“ _ Shit _ .”

“I love you, Crowley.” 

Crowley bites his lip. 

“My love…” 

_ “Shit- shit-”  _ he grinds himself harder against Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale takes a long breath in, it catches in his throat. His hands squeeze tighter.  _ “Crowley…”  _

Crowley’s breath is heavy and loud. 

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hair and the demon bent his head down to bite into his shoulder. The angel’s nails digging into his back. 

_ “Oh, my darling…”  _ Aziraphale holds Crowley so tight against him neither of them could breathe. He feels Crowley come as he presses frantic kisses into his neck, his collarbone, his jawline, anywhere he can reach. Crowley doesn’t slow, he rolls his hips at the pace they set and Aziraphale moans into his ear. He comes with a yell and holds Crowley as he falls back onto the sofa. The two of them lie there together, letting the waves of heat and pleasure roll over them, leaving them in a quiet state of bliss. 

Aziraphale combed his fingers through Crowley’s hair. His head against the arm of the sofa, his eyes closed, and his breathing soft. 

Crowley stares at their reflection in the darkened television screen. His cheek pressed against Aziraphale’s chest, his leg hanging off the cushions. Aziraphale’s arm draped effortlessly across Crowley’s waist, his fingers in his hair. Their bodies fit together so perfectly. 

“Why’d you ask me if I’ve ever been in love?” 

In the reflection, Aziraphale opens his eyes. 

“Pardon?” 

“Why ask if I’ve ever been in love?” 

Aziraphale’s fingers in Crowley’s hair went still. “I suppose I was curious.”

Crowley turns away from the television. He reaches for Aziraphale’s hand in his hair, takes it, and tangles their fingers together. 

“You ever been in love, angel?” 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, squeezing his hand. “Madly, at the moment.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. “I have.” 

A bitter taste stings the tip of Crowley’s tongue. “With who?” 

“I’m- not sure.” 

“You’re not  _ sure?”  _

“It was a long time ago, I suppose,” the angel explains. “I remember it feeling- Oh, are you jealous Crowley? Don’t worry, they don’t hold a candle.” 

____

On the fifth day, the angel had no gifts or lessons for the cherub. It had only its company. The cherub was beginning to like it that way.

It could still feel the touch of the angel. What had been done on the fourth day- well, only the stars bore witness.

The angel stood along the edge of the wall, its halo glowing like a star on its own. She’d outdone Herself, hadn’t She? 

“They look like us,” said the angel. 

The cherub woke from its trance. “What do?” 

“Animals.”

Ah, right. Animals. The creatures the angel had been telling it about. They were alive, like plants, but… more alive? Everything has to be equally alive, doesn’t it? Especially if this whole death thing is really the plan? The angel wasn’t sure, it still was grasping the idea of “tangible existence.” 

“How so?” it said. 

“Not  _ really  _ like us,” said the angel, turning to face it. Red hair catching newly-made sunlight. Had it gotten more beautiful? “Just bits. They’re more- I don’t know- whole? When I first met you, that corporation you had on, with all the faces?” 

“I’m aware of it,” said the cherub. It didn’t miss it. 

The angel nodded. “Right. Well, some of them have the same faces. They’re called lions, and eagles, and bulls-” 

“Oh my-” 

“It’s full of them!” said the angel, “More full than heaven.” 

The city beyond the wall buzzed with angels. Pearly gates had been built and golden roads. God herself was supposedly in there somewhere, though the cherub had never found out exactly were. “I have a hard time believing that.” 

The angel whispered something under its breath. 

“What was that?” said the cherub. 

“They’ve got wings too,” said the angel too quickly. 

The cherub titled its head. “All of them?” 

“No, not all of them,” it said. “I wouldn’t even say most of them, but they look better on them.” 

“Better?” the cherub looked at the angel’s wings. Black as the space between the stars yet shining with more color than the cherub knew when the moved just right. “Better how?” 

“They’re better taken care of,” said the angel. Running its eyes up and down the cherub. “For a start.” 

The cherub blinked. “What’s wrong with my wings?” 

“You’ve got too many,” said the angel. “Can’t keep track of them all.” 

“And you do so much better?” 

“Of course,” said the angel. “Less to worry about.” 

The cherub crosses his arms. “Alright,” it says, extending one wing out towards the angel. “Fix them.” 

The angel blinked. “What?”

“You clearly know so much,” said the cherub. “So fix them.” 

“I’ve never-” The angel is staring at the cherub’s wings. Pure white. Star white. The holiest part of an angel’s essence. “-touched another angel’s wings.” 

“How hard can it be?” said the cherub. 

The angel, for the first time since the start of creation, looked unsure. 

The cherub took away its wing. “I’m sorry-” it began. “I didn’t- if you don’t want to-” 

“What? Of course, I want to!” said the angel. “I just- those are your wings and- and if I hurt you-” 

“You could  _ never  _ hurt me,” said the cherub. The certainty in its voice was absolute.

The angel cleared its throat. Gold eyes still wide. It held out its hand. “Come here then.” 

The cherub took it. 

The two settled down on the wall, the cherub sat with its legs dangling over the edge of Heaven, Earth below it. It had only been four days since beyond Heaven there was simply- nothing, but the cherub could hardly remember that now. 

It felt the angel touch the tip of its longest, lowermost feathers. 

The cherub did not make a sound.

The angel ran the barbs of the feathers between its thumb and forefinger. Closing the gaps as it went. 

“Really,” the angel said, a forced sort of casual tone in its voice. “How do you get it like this? You don’t even fly.” 

The cherub smiled. 

The angel continued to work the largest feathers. Running them through its hands, running its fingers along the edges. Every now and then, it would mutter something, but the cherub never asked it to repeat itself. 

It did not feel like much, not really, a tiny vibration where the angel’s fingers were, but it was an odd feeling. A terribly foreign one. The cherub had its wings touched the same amount of times the angel had touched any, and that alone made it shudder. 

Then, the angel moved farther up the wing. 

It ran its fingers lightly over the feather’s flattening them. The cherub bit its lip. Its hands continued to wander inward, to where the cherub’s wings meet its back. 

_ “Mm,”  _ the cherub clapped a hand over its mouth. 

“You alright?” the angel said, stiffening its fingers. 

“Yes-” the angel swallowed suddenly, “Dig your fingers in further.” 

The angel did as it was told, hooking its fingers, and combing through the down until its fingertips met skin. “Like that?” 

_ “Yes.”  _

The angel continued to move. 

It teased the cherub. Alternating between light strokes, where it merely flattened its palm and brushed over the feathers, and the deeper combs, where it pressed through the down and dragged its hand across the wing. Watching the cherub the whole time. Smiling at the ripples through its body, the redness of its cheeks, the contortion of its face as it clasped its palm down harder over its mouth. 

The angel moved its hand to where the feathers met skin, making tiny, gentle circles through the sensitive down. “Can I kiss you?” 

The cherub nodded. 

“Say it,” hissed the angel. 

_ “Yes.” _

The angel ran one hand over the cherub’s hip, while the other remained tangled in its wing, and kissed the back of the cherub’s neck.

_ “Oh...”  _

The angel began to lean against the cherub, pushing its body forward so it could better kiss at its back. Down it went, fingers dragging through feathers. 

_ “Oh my…” _

The cherub’s head was nearly between its knees, hands gripping the edge of the wall, angel behind it, driving it mad with its fingers and its mouth. Then, the angel kissed the space between the cherub’s wings. 

What happened next could be later described as striking a shard of flint against steel. 

A sudden glow of sparks in a dark, cold place, a touch of warmth, a taste of hope. 

_ “Stop,”  _ said the cherub. 

The angel’s touch was instantly gone. 

The cherub sat up, heaving, eyes still closed. Wings limp and messier than they had been. It’s entire form ached.  _ “The sun.” _

“What?” 

The cherub opened its eyes, and ruffled its feathers. “The sun...it’s going down.” 

“Oh- right,” said the angel. “It does that doesn’t it?” 

They sat in silence. The clouds of the earth below them painted with deep blues and oranges and pinks. 

The cherub’s feathers flattened, and two of its wings disappeared. 

“You should see it,” the angel said, after a time. It sat on the very edge of the wall, knees hugged to its chest, wings folded behind it. Perched like a crow. 

“See what?” 

“The earth,” said the angel. “You’d like it.” 

____

Aziraphale lays on his back in bed, Crowley’s head is between his thighs, and he examines his wedding ring. 

Aziraphale’s ring is white gold, while Crowley’s is yellow gold. No stones in either, just the engraving. 

He slips the ring off his finger and holds it above his head. Crowley has dimmed the lamps so the room is filled with a warm orange glow that creates deep, dark shadows, but Aziraphale finds just enough light to outline the words inside of the ring. 

_ Amor Vincit Omnia. _

If he focuses, he can feel Crowley’s wedding ring, the metal growing hot from the warmth of their bodies. Aziraphale’s stomach twitched involuntarily as the demon licks into him.

He thinks about being married. 

That smooth friction of the wedding band against his thigh feels better than anything else they had done that night. He remembers a legend he heard once about a ball of red thread, tied to the fingers of those destined to be together. He never liked that legend too much, he was so certain he as an angel was exempt from having one and the thought put him out more than he would admit. Also, wouldn’t moving around be terribly difficult? Tonight, however, as he looks at his ring in the light he swears he can see that string. Tying them together. Making them whole. 

A shudder of pleasure ran through his body. Oh, Crowley feels like  _ fire _ . He closes his eyes and holds the ring to his chest. 

He thinks about their vows. 

_ I vow… _ Aziraphale had written for weeks. Somewhere in his bookshop, there is a journal filled cover to cover with promises. He meant them all, but he knew he wouldn’t have the time to read them all. _ To ride in your car without panicking. To listen to be-bop. To look after your plants. To live only on our side. To make up for the lost time.  _

_ I vow…  _ Crowley had kept his glasses  _ on  _ at the altar, and even if Aziraphale hadn’t taken them off the moment they’d entered the hotel room he’d have known why. Red-rimmed amber. He’d never known someone could look at him like that.  _ To take you to every sushi restaurant. To buy a dessert so you can eat it. To scare the customers out of your bookshop. To never let you forget I saved the fucking world for you. _

_ You can’t swear at the altar, dear. _

_ It’s  _ my  _ wedding, isn’t it? _

Aziraphale clasps a hand over his mouth. Crowley pulls it down by the wrist and holds it white-knuckled over his stomach. The angel licked his lips. 

_ “Darling,” _ he said, his voice more of a gasp than he expected. 

“Mhm?” Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s wrist and slipped his fingers inside him, kissing his inner thigh. 

“I want to consummate our marriage.” 

Crowley stops. 

A longing ache burns between his legs as Crowley removes his fingers and Aziraphale grips the bedsheets. 

The demon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What are we doing now?” he says, wiping off his fingers with a towel they had sitting on the nightstand. 

Aziraphale’s mouth goes dry. “No! I don’t mean- This is all very good but-” 

His fist tightens around the ring. He held his free hand out to Crowley. “Come here.” 

Crowley takes it. 

He guides Crowley to lay beside him, wrapping the comforter around their naked selves. Lying on their sides, facing each other. Aziraphale feels the words burning the back of his throat but not sure how to make himself say them. 

“What’s wrong?” asks Crowley. 

“Nothing, darling,” says Aziraphale. 

It’s not even really a lie. Nothing is  _ wrong  _ exactly. He just wants to ask Crowley to- do something with him- in bed. Something that could be potentially dangerous, if they aren’t careful.

In most circumstances, Aziraphale imagines Crowley may look at him a bit odd, but agree  _ “Anything you’d like.”  _ he’d say. But this- this wasn’t the usual risky thing couples did in bed. Not as literally as they can do it at least. 

Crowley, wordlessly, lets go of Aziraphale’s hand and wraps his arms around him. Pressing his face into Aziraphale’s bare chest, the angels chin resting on the top of his head. Aziraphale lightly stroking the back of his head. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. 

“Hm?”

“I want to try something with you.”

“Anything,” says Crowley. “Name it.” 

Aziraphale tightens his grip on Crowley. Anchoring himself. He’s really here. This is Crowley, he can- he can ask him anything. 

“I want to know your soul.”

Crowley goes rigid in his arms. Aziraphale tastes copper. 

“Have I spoiled it?” asks Aziraphale, too quickly. 

“Spoiled what?” 

“This,” says Aziraphale. Rubbing a hand up Crowley’s back. “Our marriage.” 

“No,” assures Crowley. “No, you really think-? I just-  _ shit-”  _

“We don’t have to,” says Aziraphale. Gripping Crowley’s hair. “All of this- what we’re doing now is fine. It’s perfect.” 

“I  _ want  _ to Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale pauses. Staring ahead. The time glowed in green numbers on the electric clock, well past midnight. Was it too late for this sort of thing? 

“Then what’s-” Aziraphale begins, Crowley embraces him a bit tighter, Aziraphale doesn’t know why until he realizes his hands are shaking. “What’s the matter?” 

“You’re an angel.” 

“Yes.” 

“And I’m-” 

“My husband,” says Aziraphale. His heart flutters as he says it. He runs his thumb over his ring. 

Crowley breaks their embrace. 

He pulls back and leans on his elbow. Staring down at Aziraphale. His pupils wide enough to leave only the thinnest ring of gold in his iris.  _ Husband _ . That’s what he is, they’d said so at the altar in front of everyone they knew, which was admittedly a small crowd. But it’s something different, to say it where others can hear and say it where they can’t. It’s truer where they can’t. 

“Yeah,” said Crowley. “Yeah, I am.” 

“My best friend.” Aziraphale does not raise his head from the pillow. He runs two fingers down Crowley’s breastbone. “I want to know you. All of you.”

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand, bringing it to his lips. Kissing his fingertips, his knuckles. “I love you,” he mutters against his skin. 

“I know, dear,” says Aziraphale. 

“Lie on your back,” says Crowley.

Aziraphale does, Crowley crawls over him. The white comforter still around his shoulders. He looks at him in that way that makes Aziraphale’s heart break. He told him once that he’s looked at him like that before,  _ many  _ times before. That he got  _ very  _ good at knowing when Aziraphale wasn’t looking. 

_ Wiley serpent.  _

He cups Crowley’s cheek. “We have eternity.”

Crowley leans into the touch, turning his head to kiss his palm. “That’s not long enough.”

“What isn’t?” 

“Eternity,” said Crowley. “Not long enough.” 

____

“I think She’s done,” said the angel on the sixth day. 

“Really?” said the cherub. 

“Yup,” said the angel. “Didn’t even put me to work.” 

Endings are frightening things. If the beginning was truly over, then what comes next?

“What did She make?” 

“These things called humans,” said the angel. “Just two though. Didn’t cover the whole world with these. 

“That seems...rather odd,” said the cherub. The Almighty had been making things in bulk, a million trees, a billion stars. For her to make just two of something. 

“They look like Her,” said the angel. “Like us.” 

“Well that’s not unusual,” said the cherub. “The animals look like us.” 

“Not just  _ bits,”  _ said the angel. “Really like us. Like- take away the wings and I’m a human. That’s all it takes.” 

The angel was staring over the edge of the wall, at the completed earth. It still had that shine of newness that every just-made thing does, and in time, it would fade. 

“They must be important, then,” said the cherub. 

“Yup,” said the angel. “And they’re going to live in a garden. Paradise. Forever.” 

“Not unlike us I suppose,” said the cherub. 

“Yeah,” said the angel. “It’s even got a wall. And it’s in the middle of nowhere. And there’s no way out.” 

There was a certain  _ tone  _ to the angel’s voice. One could call it simple meanness, cold bitterness, but the more astute would know better. 

“Are you alright?” said the cherub. 

“Fine,” said the angel. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

It is remarkable, how much you can learn about someone in six days time. 

“What’s a paradise?” asked the angel. 

“Heaven,” answered the cherub. Like it had rehearsed it. Even though the question had never been asked since the first day. 

“No it isn’t,” said the angel. The same utmost certainty in its voice. 

“How do you know?” 

“It’s too- small,” said the angel. “I mean- yeah- it’s  _ bigger  _ than anything but it’s all… the same.” 

The cherub looked back at the city. It had grown too, in the past six days, no longer could the cherub see the other side of the wall. It saw buildings, palaces, made of gold and platinum and pearl. It saw the light. It saw wings. 

And they all look the same. 

“The garden’s the same way,” said the angel. 

The cherub turned back to the angel. “Surely, it won’t be that bad,” it said. “Herself is looking after them.” 

The angel simply stared over the wall. Its hair had gotten longer since the first day. Redder. Its wings are blacker. Its eyes were still gold, but they weren’t Heaven’s gold. 

“I don’t want you on this wall forever,” said the angel. “You don’t deserve that.” 

This made the cherub step forward. 

It put one hand on the angel’s shoulder, making a point to tangle two strands of perfect red hair between its fingers. “It won’t be forever.” 

The angel turned to it, it said nothing. 

“When you next go to earth,” said the cherub. “Take me with you.” 

____

Crowley presses into Aziraphale, who lets out a pleased closed-mouth moan at the sensation. 

“If it- if it feels  _ wrong-”  _

“Nothing could feel more right.” 

“Aziraphale, if I hurt you-”

“You could  _ never  _ hurt me, Crowley.” 

He closes his eyes and nods, bending down to kiss Aziraphale on the forehead. They both spread their wings. 

It is a difficult thing to understand, even for them. 

Crowley begins to move, running his fingers through Aziraphale’s feathers. Aziraphale rolls his hips in response, stroking his hand down the length of Crowley’s wing. 

Crowley leans over Aziraphale, lacing their fingers together. 

“Ready?” Crowley said, panting. 

Aziraphale nodded.  _ “Yes.”  _

Crowley squeezes his hand. 

It’s a strike of lightning in a dry field. 

Darkness suddenly swallowed in light, startling, comforting. If the flames of that wildfire grew until they filled the darkness they were in with nothing but the purest white- then perhaps it could have encaptured a fraction of what it was like. 

They both cried out, their bodies came, but neither noticed, and neither stopped. It is a deep, blue fire within their cores that spreads into white-hot flames on every inch of their flesh. 

“Crowley- _ oh!”  _

Their thoughts are their own yet not, swirling in both their heads. An echo of the same declaration. 

“Aziraffff-  _ angel.” _

There was no pain. Pain was a concept so foreign. The most alien thing imaginable. Like picturing a color that does not exist. 

_ “My love. Oh, my love.” _

Making love. Yes. New things could be made from this. Love or something else. They would have to try again one day, to be sure. 

_ “I feel-” _

They fit together like two halves a broken glass, so wrong that they’d ever been apart. They were meant to be one. Whole. 

_ “I feel it too, Crowley.”  _

They came again. They can see the color. They can feel the jagged edges of the glass. It feels  _ right _ , it feels  _ needed _ , it feels- 

_ “Familiar,”  _ Crowley gasps. 

Aziraphale blinks up at him. He’s surrounded by a holy golden glow. He has more than one face.

“Angel, have we…” He shutters. The shards of his broken halo tremble and swirl like they may reassemble. “Have we done this before?” 

____

No one was watching on the seventh day.

From this point onward, for many on earth, their seventh day would be one of rest. Generations would take off their shoes, put up their tools, dim their lanterns, and rest. Heaven only got it this once.

Grass did not feel how the cherub expected. 

Life was new and curious then, and it would never truly lose those traits. A yellow and black spotted creature watched the angels through a cascade of vines, blue-winged butterflies abandoned their flowers and flew around their halos while white and black birds preened their own wings and chirped inquisitively from the branches. Angels on earth were more common then, but animals would always be good at finding them. 

The cherub clung to the arm of the angel as if it may ascend without warning at any moment. Their white robes looked unfitting against all the garden’s green.

“Why here?” asked the cherub. “I thought you didn’t like this place.” 

“It’s not  _ that,”  _ said the angel. “It’s pretty- not pretty enough to be stuck in- but pretty enough for a quick look.” 

The cherub looked around. Somewhere, it heard the sound of a rushing waterfall, the sun shined through dew-dappled leaves and painted marvelous patterns of light on the ground. It stroked its fingers on the trunk of a tree- refreshingly damp and cool beneath its touch. 

“Hard to imagine there’s any place better,” said the cherub. 

“It’s not about which place is better _ ,”  _ said the angel. “It’s about there being other places.” 

They found a clearing. Bathed in warm sunlight. Its own white trickle of a waterfall fed a perfectly clear blue pool. The fin of a golden fish rippled the surface as they approached, and the cherub sat by its shore. 

“Where are those humans?” asked the cherub.

“Hard to say,” said the angel, settling down to sit by the pond.

“Think they’re close?” 

“No, they’re probably frolicking through some flowers a mile away,” said the angel, sitting beside the cherub. “Why?” 

Somewhere, God smacked a rock of flint onto a shard of steel. 

“Are there…” the cherub ran its hand through the pool. The same golden fish curiously circled its fingers. “Are there any angels down here?” 

“God no!” said the angel. “They’re all back upstairs. Enjoying their one free day in eternity.”

“So it’s just us then?” said the cherub. 

“Should be,” said the angel. “Why?” 

The cherub removed its hand from the pool and ran its cool fingertips down the angel’s jawline. It closed its eyes and shuttered. 

She watched the sparks glow.

“Come here,” the cherub said. 

The angel did. It crawled to the cherub like a traveler would one day crawl to a desert oasis. 

The cherub wrapped its arms around the angel, and they both fell back into the grass. The angel over the cherub, its long red hair falling down onto the grass, onto the white of the cherub’s robe. A bird sang as it flew overhead, the trickle of the waterfall sounded softer. 

The cherub cupped its face in its hands. 

She breathed on the embers. 

“Kiss me.” 

The angel did.

The kissed there in the garden. They kissed and smiled and laughed and laced their fingers together. They kissed and spread their wings, they ran their fingers through the feathers and gasped and moaned and if anyone had found them then they wouldn’t have known, and they wouldn’t have cared. 

The angel kissed the corner of the cherub’s mouth, then its jaw, then down the side of its neck. Its hand grasped at the cherub’s side, pulling at the white robe.  _ “I…” _

_ “Anything,” _ gasped the cherub.  _ “Anything at all.”  _

“I want to make something with you,” said the angel.

_ “Yes…” _ it was more of a desire than a question. 

The angel pulled from the cherub, looking down at it. Something swam in the gold of its eyes, rippling the surface as it went by, and the cherub knew. 

“I need you to show me how,” said the cherub. 

“I don’t know how,” the angel admitted. 

The cherub was not discouraged. Instead, it smiled, it brought its hand to the angel’s cheek and wove red locks between its fingers. It would never forget that. It would always love the red softness of the angel’s hair. “How different can it be from making stars?” 

It was good that Adam and Eve were so far away. They were on the other side of the garden, in a flowery grove. If they could see, they would have been envious.

If a human were to look, it would see fire and stars intertwined. Something with six wings. With more eyes than could be understood. Something made of a word that had not yet been written. Something new, and very, very old. 

She dipped Her quill in ink and what She wrote was written in black letters. Then, She looked away. 

On the dawn of the eighth day, angels had fallen, memories had been stolen, and an apple tree had grown in Eden. 

____

Aziraphale never sleeps, but this morning he woke up to the sun in his eyes. The room was the soft, bright yellow of early morning. Crowley still slept beside him, on his stomach, mouth half-open with his hand lazily laid on top of Aziraphale’s. Yellow-gold wedding band shining proudly. Aziraphale squeezed his fingers. Crowley squeezed back before he truly woke up.

“How do you feel?” asked Crowley, after he had closed his mouth and opened his eyes.

Aziraphale’s body ached. He knew already that there were embarrassing marks on his neck and thighs and wherever else Crowley had decided to mark him. He was exhausted, a deep, good kind of exhaustion. The kind you feel after just completing something you’ve worked very, very hard for. 

“Good,” replied Aziraphale. “Very good.”

“You want breakfast?” asked Crowley, sitting up on his elbows and pulling the bedside phone off its receiver. “What do you want?” 

Aziraphale did not respond. He only stared at Crowley. 

“What?” 

Aziraphale rolled onto his back, crossing his arms over his stomach and staring at the ceiling. “Should we be more...I don’t know...surprised?” 

“I  _ am  _ surprised, angel,” said Crowley. “I’m bloody shocked.” 

“You don’t  _ look  _ shocked,” said Aziraphale. 

“And that’s cause it figures doesn’t it?” said Crowley. Sounding somewhere between horribly annoyed and bafflingly amused. “‘Course God went and did that. She’s proven She’s got a sense of humor, hasn’t She?” 

“I don’t think I understand her humor,” said Aziraphale. 

“That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” said Crowley, hanging up the phone. Moving to be leaning over Aziraphale. “Isn’t that what you were always telling me?”

Aziraphale smiled. He ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. He couldn’t stop doing it since he was finally allowed to. He never thought he’d need an explanation as to why. 

“How long do we have this room?” said Aziraphale. 

“A couple more hours,” said Crowley. “Why?” 

“Would anyone notice if we,” Aziraphale wrapped his hand around the back of Crowley’s neck, pulling him closer. “Overstayed? Just a little?” 

Crowley smiled. “No,” he said. “No one would notice at all.” 

____

In the beginning, or perhaps a bit after, there was an angel. The angel was not too important but had been told to stand on the wall of Eden and guard Her garden from what was beyond. What was beyond? The angel did not know, it hadn’t seen it yet. 

There was a demon, about as important, with the title of “Serpent.” Its job was to make some trouble with Her creations, though it noticed that She didn’t do too much to stop it. The day came when the demon wondered why, exactly, it had to stay in the garden. Who would notice if it took a look into the world? So it went to take a look, slithering up the wall of Eden. There, it found the angel on the wall. 

**Author's Note:**

> Efforts here are meant to be somewhat ambiguous, so go nuts if you'd like. The good part of this is you get to imagine whatever you want and I never have to type the word "cock." 
> 
> I could have called this "From Eden" and I didn't. That's genuine self-restraint. 
> 
> Tumblr: feathered-serpents.tumblr.com


End file.
